The Things We Think We Know
by someonestolemyshoes49
Summary: Set some time after 'Rose-Coloured Glasses' - My take on how Jane finds out what instrument Lisbon really played in high-school. Second Mentalist fic - I suck at summary's. Please read and review, make my day. Title is irrelevant.


**A/N: Well hello! Alrighty, first off, I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, favourite and alerted my last fic, I was so pleased with the feedback. **

** Now that that's been said, on to my next one. This is another one-shot, again, supposed to be fun. I got the idea for this one after watching 'Rose-Colored Glasses' and thinking to myself; I wonder what instrument Lisbon did play in high school. So, here's my idea. **

** Just a warning; though it's not 100% necessary to read my previous fic, there are some subtle connections, so it would be nice to read that one, too. **

** Disclaimer; I don't own The Mentalist. I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if I did. **

** Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. Please, enjoy, and don't forget, I do love feedback! **

7:30am arrived far too early for Patrick Jane.

Not usually one for sleeping, he'd been pleased to finally drift off into a relatively peaceful slumber during the early hours of Monday morning; a heavy, numb sleep that carried him straight through to the unwelcome blaring of his usually useless alarm.

It took a near insurmountable effort to drag himself out of the lumpy bed he'd acquired in an extended stay motel, but drag he did, showering and changing in record time and arriving at the CBI building with a full hour to spare before the work day officially began.

The bullpen was empty, but the artificial light filtering through the blinds of Lisbon's office told him he was by no means alone.

He rerouted his journey from his beeline to the couch, to the door to Lisbon's office and knocked softly on the glass.

"Come in."

Jane pulled a toothy grin in place and yanked the glass door open, revealing a sleep-deprived Lisbon, sitting back in her desk chair, eyes flitting between the door where Jane now stood and her computer monitor.

"You're in early." Jane commented, letting the door swing closed behind him.

"So are you." The retort was bland.

"I'm sure you could manage something wittier."

Evidently, his words merited no reply.

Jane wandered around the edge of the office, eyes tracing what little personal effects Lisbon kept there. An old photograph in a worn frame; a certificate of some description, probably work-related; a make-shift medal on a frayed ribbon. He paused there.

"What's this for?" Jane asked. Lisbon raised a brow. The consultant lifted the medal into her line of sight.

"Oh, that." Her eyes dropped back to the monitor, fingers working the keypad idly.

"Yes, that. Come on, share."

Lisbon ignored him. He swung the pendant gently from one finger. Lisbon lifted her gaze back to him, brow furrowed.

"Debating whether or not to tell me." Jane supplied. Lisbon grumbled under her breath. "What was that?" Jane tucked a hand behind his ear and leaned closer.

"I didn't say anything. Don't you have something you could be doing?" Before Jane could reply, she added "Besides bothering me."

"Oh. No." And to emphasise his point, her masterful irritant dropped unceremoniously onto her office couch, with a hefty sigh of pleasure.

"Jane." She growled out his name as a warning.

"Tell me what the medal is for, and I'll leave." He bargained.

"Nothing." Thumb tap. Jane didn't miss it.

"Liar. What's it for? Why would you have a medal for nothing, anyway?"

"It's not a medal." Lisbon finally gave. The titbit did not have the desired effect. She'd hooked him, and knew now that there was no way he was leaving until she told him what the pendant was for. No use trying to lie to the master.

"It's from high school."

"Give me more." Jane said.

Lisbon scoffed and collapsed against the back of her chair. "I don't see why it's important."

"It's good to know things about the people you work with."

The Agent mulled over his words for a moment before carefully replying.

"What do I get in return?"

Jane's eyes glinted at the mischief behind her words. He chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm surprised at you, Lisbon. Never saw you as the haggling type."

"Tit for tat."

Jane nodded and raised his hands in surrender.

"Alright," He conceded, sitting further forward on the couch, "I've got it. You tell me about this," He gestured to the pendant, "And I'll tell you about _this_." At his words, he hurried from the office. Lisbon rolled her eyes, sighed, and waited with limited patience for his return.

In minutes, Jane bounded back through the door, a little black baggie in one hand. He took his seat on the couch, turned to Lisbon, and spoke again.

"You first."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes.

"How do I know I can trust you?" She asked. Jane feigned a hurt expression, hand on heart.

"It pains me that after six years you still don't trust me."

"Oh, shush. What reason have you ever given me to trust you?"

"I caught you in a trust fall, once." He commented, sitting back. Lisbon raised a brow.

"And that's enough to consolidate, what will it have been, five years of lies, deceit, dishonesty, into a forever binding faith in you?"

Jane nodded dumbly, as though the question itself had been stupid. Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine. I'll take your word for it."

Jane beamed a knee quaking grin. How can anyone say no to that, Lisbon thought.

"I'm sitting comfortably," Jane said, shimmying his shoulders against the back of the couch, "You can begin."

"Alright, when I was in school-."

"No 'Once upon a time'?"

"Don't push it. Back in high school, I never had all that much free time. I was either busy with studies, working to pay bills, or looking after the house. I never really had time off. But when Tommy, the next oldest of the four of us, got a little older, he took on some of the responsibility. He got himself a decent job, so I didn't have to work as many hours. That opened up something totally new to me."

"Personal time." Jane supplied. Lisbon nodded and continued.

"My mom died when I was twelve, then dad started drinking. I had to grow up overnight. I'd lost most of my teenage life, so when Tommy got a job, I had time to get some of it back. Which is what I did. I went out after school, made new friends, got a social life."

"I can't imagine you with a social life." Jane commented. Lisbon shot him a glare, and he zipped his lips closed and nodded for her to continue.

"I had a social life. For the first time in years. So I did something I'd always, _always_ wanted to do." Lisbon paused here, and Jane gestured for her to continue. She gave a small smirk. "I learned to play an instrument."

"Trumpet." Jane said.

"No. I would play the damn thing in every hour of free time I had. When dad started getting sick of the noise, I had to find somewhere else to play."

"Clarinet."

"No, you've already tried that."

"Damn."

"Anyway, I went out one night while dad was away. I was walking around near the school grounds, when I heard the most amazing sounds. Guitar, drums, bass, trumpet. All kinds of instruments. It sounded amazing. So I followed the sound a little way and found an old squatting sight."

"Let me guess, you met with a bunch of people similar to you, victims of loss and abuse, you guys formed a kind of 'club' where you'd meet up, get drunk, smoke dope and play to your heart's content. This," Jane said, bringing the pendant between them, "is a souvenir. The more I look at it, the more it looks like an old silver guitar pick. Am I right?"

Lisbon gaped a little, but conceded with a tight nod.

"Banjo."

"Nope. Okay, there's my story. You're turn."

Jane gave another face-splitting grin and picked up his little black baggie. He sat forward, leaning close on to the edge of her desk. Lisbon leaned in, too, an air of secrecy to what Jane was about to reveal.

He brought the black baggie between them and began to speak.

"Okay, here goes." He said. Lisbon's breathe held in her chest. "I went," Again, he paused for effect, "To the mall yesterday, and picked this up from a lovely little stall. Sold some beautiful trinkets."

"What? Jane! That's not fair!"

Ignoring her cries of protest, Jane opened the baggie and slipped out a long rectangular object, about seven inches in length, with holes littering one edge. Lisbon's voice stopped, and she glanced, with wide green eyes, down at Jane's hand.

** "**Harmonica." Jane whispered, eyes twinkling. Lisbon stared for a moment longer, then;

"Don't be ridiculous." She scoffed.

Jane looked at the silver instrument now lying on top of the baggie on Lisbon's desk.

"Huh, I was sure this was it." He said. With a shrug, Jane turned to leave the office. "You can keep it anyway." He said, gesturing to the shining silver oblong.

"Gee, thanks." Lisbon deadpanned. "Now shoo, I have tonnes of paperwork."

Jane held up his hands in surrender and left the office, glass door closing with a soft 'whoosh' behind him.

XxX

7:30pm arrived far too early for Patrick Jane.

Knowing he'd have to head back to the lumpy bed in the extended stay motel he was currently residing in was enough to put him off, he didn't need to think of the nightmares that were sure to encase him the moment his head hit the pillow.

He dragged himself down from the CBI attic on weary feet, making a painstakingly slow journey down the stairs and into the Serious Crimes Unit's territory.

The bullpen was empty by now, but the artificial light streaming through the blinds of Lisbon's office told him he was, once again, not alone.

His feet instinctively carried him towards the glass room, but he stopped short, when a low, beautiful sound drifted from behind the lowered blinds. The tune was slow, deep and familiar. He moved closer to the room and peered through the only gap he could find.

Lisbon sat behind her desk, eyes closed, harmonica held to her lips. She took a breath and continued, blowing life into the seven inch instrument, giving the silver oblong block a voice all of its own, carrying through the glass to the waiting ears of those close enough to hear it.

Jane smiled to himself and turned, wandering, with a newfound happiness in his step, towards the elevator. He boarded the contraption alone, and, as the doors closed, he glanced one last time at Lisbon's office, and, with a smile, lifted the old silver guitar pick up to the light for a closer look.

**A/N: Voila! My second mentalist fic, done and dusted. Again, this was intended to be light-hearted, despite the brief mentions of abuse and childhood trauma. **

** I hope everyone enjoyed! Please, drop me a review **

** Much love, Someone x**


End file.
